


The Wall

by FrizzleFry



Category: Recess (Cartoon)
Genre: ADHD, Gen, Meds, Mental Health Issues, Might add more tags if I continue this, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Self Harm, Suicide Attempts, Therapy, Trauma, psychiatry, rating might change in the future, vent fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23364553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrizzleFry/pseuds/FrizzleFry
Summary: As a child he was misdiagnosed with ODD.They thought that was made him a troublemaker.But their attempts to cure him only made everything worse.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Appointment (21)

**Author's Note:**

> This is really just vent fic, so I have no idea if I'm going anywhere with it. I might add onto this in the future, but I also might just leave it as is.

“Five minutes.”  
he breathed out loud. “Five more minutes.”  
His heart was beating fast. His breathing was shallow.  
“It's gonna be ok. Nobody can make me stay. Nobody can force anything onto me,” he told himself.  
“Now just... ground yourself... breathe.”  
He did as he had told himself to do. He focused on the air streaming into and out of his lungs. He imagined himself connected to the ground, as a part of something bigger. Something heavy that would only move if it wanted to.  
Some thoughts still swirled around in his head. He didn't dare speak them out loud.

  
“Four minutes.”  
What if she would side with them?  
What if she would agree that it had to happen that way?  
No, that was impossible. It couldn't. And even if she did, he could just leave.  
But he didn't wanna leave. He didn't want all the courage he worked up to get to this point to go to waste. He didn't wanna feel hopeless again. She had to side with him.  
“You can tell her as much, or as little as you want. Scout it out. She doesn't know anything really. And you informed yourself. She'll only report you if you're a danger to yourself or others.”  
But what if he was a danger? What if they had been right after all?

  
“Three minutes.”  
What if they had been right and really he should be thankful?  
No! That was impossible. They couldn't have been. He was miserable. He suffered so much. Everyone he told about it had assured him it wasn't ok.  
But she wasn't like everyone. She knew better than normal people. It was her job to know better. She could tell if he was dangerous. But he wasn't. He was off meds for years now and he never hurt anyone. He never hurt anyone before either, though... so did that matter?  
Yes! It had to matter. That's why it was unjust to put him on meds.

  
“Two minutes.”  
What if?  
He didn't even have to think the thought any further because a million different problems starting with these two words occupied his mind. And none of them were very nice to think about or even acknowledge. His heart began to beat faster. He couldn't do this. He had to get out. But he was frozen. He looked over to the clock on the wall and watched the seconds tick away,   
He imagined a noise in his head. _Tick, tick, tick._ Slowly he felt the ticking turn into dripping of little water droplets from a faucet.  
“Nope! Not thinking of that right now.”  
But he did think about it. Sitting in the kitchen waiting for his parents to stop arguing, counting the droplets dripping down into the sink. Completely out of his mind for the first of many times. One of the few memories he could remember distinctly. One of those times where he felt the happiness drain from his body before all other feelings were drained as well and his memory became fuzzy.

  
“One minute.”  
He didn't even notice that he said it out loud. He also didn't notice the person coming in from the door behind him.  
“Mr. Detweiler?”  
He flinched and almost lost his balance. She was smiling at him. It made him feel a mixture of warmth and unease. But she looked casual. No lab coat, like he imagined. So that was a plus.  
_Now or never,_ he told himself as he shook her hand.


	2. Boredom (15)

His head hurt like hell, but not in a way that was really there. It was like there was someone else in his body and that person had a migraine. He wanted something, but that something wouldn't come to his thoughts because the other person was there blocking it with that goddamn headache.  
Sitting on his bed, rocking back and forth while throwing away one comic book after the next because none of them can entertain him. Fighting the urge to rip them to shreds.  
Every once in a while an idea would float to the top of his mind soup, then quickly sink back down again before he could grasp it.  
He should have been sleeping, hell he _wanted_ to be sleeping, but nope. No chance. He was wide awake and would be so for another couple hours at least. He could take the pills, but they didn't do anything about that god awful feeling of being wide awake with a buzzing in your head. They either just did nothing except give him an upset stomach or make him feel empty.

And even if they did help.  
Wouldn't those stuck up, patronizing jackasses at the clinic like that if he took them? Fuck no.  
And he definitely wouldn't gamble with that shit again. Not after... _that_ experience.  
Another comic landed on the floor with a somewhat satisfying thud.  
If he had snuck some more booze to his room he could make it shut up, maybe pop an ibuprophene beforehand and really get fucked up. But that was too risky. His parents had found him with beer once and that had already not been pretty.  
His finger had turned blue from a rubber band he had been playing with constricting his blood flow. He had forgotten it was there. He rolled it off his finger and onto his wrist, pulling it and letting it slap against his skin. Repeatedly. Until he got bored of it and went back to looking through his comics in hopes to find that one issue he might be craving, that would pull him in and still keep him from sleeping but in a way that was fun and felt satisfying.

He wanted to feel like he did when he was eight, nine years old, staying up past his bed time with a flashlight under his covers and rereading the same issues of Señor Fusion over and over again until he passed out from exhaustion. Looking for that one specific issue that _must_ make him feel like that again and that was hiding somewhere in the pile.  
At least when he was so overcome with pain that he tried to slit his wrists some weeks ago he was feeling something other than buzzing in is skull and a full body headache that wouldn't even allow him the pleasure to be in actual pain. At least when moving his body hurt after getting the shit kicked out of him in a fight he picked with someone much bigger than him he could play with his bruises and be entertained for a while.

His dad had locked up all the razorblades after his suicide attempt. And they had put him on stronger meds he still refused to take. No fucking way. Never again. If he had to act like he was fine and hide the pills under his tongue to later spit them out he would gladly do so.  
Then again there is only so fine you can act when you tried to kill yourself recently, isn't there?  
Like, yeah, it was stupid of him and immediately after he did it he regretted it and he didn't know why that stupid phone call had hit him like that and reduced him to such a mess of pain and self hatred. But crying his eyes out with his shaky hands holding onto a blade, debating if he really should do it or not at the very least isn't fucking boring.  
He felt so stupid afterwards. Letting such a small thing fuck him up like that. The only thing he wanted when he woke up in the hospital bed was for everyone around him to shut the fuck up and let him disappear back into the darkness of passing out on the passenger seat of your dad's car with a blood soaked towel holding your arm together. If he got that worked up over something that was completely fine the next day, he probably should have gone through with it and not been a little bitch halfway through.  
He didn't know when he had started pacing back and forth in his room, but he noticed he was when the cold from the open window seeped into his skin without the protection of his blanket. He shivered.

Soon he crawled back into bed and shut off his light. Putting on an audiobook that would hopefully be more bearable than feeling like shit over everything that happened.  
If he could change it so he got beaten up twice he would. Maybe even just as close to death. At least that was a cool way to go. And something he wouldn't be ashamed off now. As long as he put up a fight and got some nice broken bones out of it that he could press on whenever he got bored it would be so much more worth the pain.  
But no...  
Fucking hell...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If for whatever reason you're gaining something out of this, feel free to drop a comment.


End file.
